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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/28096116">You Can't Always Get What You Want (But You Get What You Need)</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/q_dicted/pseuds/gonzosgirrl'>gonzosgirrl (q_dicted)</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Supernatural</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Alternate Ending, Dabbernatural Doesn't Exist, Episode: s11e23 Alpha and Omega, Gen, Minus BMOL, Minus Mary, The Show Ended At Season 11</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-12-16</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-12-16</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-10 20:48:08</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>General Audiences</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>No Archive Warnings Apply</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>1</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>6,273</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/28096116</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/q_dicted/pseuds/gonzosgirrl</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>With the universe on the line, Dean goes to Amara locked and loaded. But maybe there's a better way?</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>3</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>24</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>You Can't Always Get What You Want (But You Get What You Need)</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>I will never accept Dabb's ending to the series. As far as I am concerned, canon ended a few minutes before the end of 11x23 and the BMOL never crossed the ocean. If any of that sounds good to you, read on!</p>
    </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>-1-</p><p>
  <em>He’s never much considered the sun before. It brought out the freckles he hated with a passion, until he got a little older and found out how much the ladies loved them. It rose in the east, set in the west and made his baby look like a million bucks when she was freshly washed and waxed. It wasn’t like the moon and the stars. He and Sammy had spent more than a few nights parked in the middle of nowhere, in between fake credit cards and no spare cash for a motel, just sitting on Baby’s hood sharing a beer and watching the stars. Most creepy-crawlies come out at night - Dean has seen the moon come up a thousand times more than the sun. Even in the darkest days before they put Lucifer back in the cage, it never occurred to him to wonder if the sun would ever rise again. The whole world took it for granted - this thing that sustained all life on Earth - and now he was going to give up his own life for a shot at saving it.</em>
</p><p>
  <em>It’s growing dimmer with each step he takes toward The Darkness. She’s still bitter, so determined to watch her brother’s creation burn that she’s willing to let it take her with it. And time is running out. The light is failing and it fills him with despair, but it also gives him the courage of his convictions. Amara’s revelation that she knows exactly why he’s here stops him in his tracks, but he is still Dean Winchester and there is no chance in hell that he’s gonna just lay down and die without trying. And so he steps forward. </em>
</p><p>
  <em>“You don't want to be alone. Not really. I mean, hell. Maybe that's why you wanted me. But deep down, you didn't really want me... 'cause I'm not him. So maybe I can kill you. Or maybe I can't. Maybe if I pull this trigger, we all live happily ever after, or maybe we die bloody, or maybe it doesn't matter, because maybe there's a different way. So I'm gonna ask you again. Put aside the rage. Put aside the hate. And you tell me... what do you want?”</em>
</p><p>---</p><p>“He did it.”</p><p>“He bloody <em>did</em> it!” Rowena echoes Crowley’s words as they spill from the deserted bar onto the dingy patio. As one they turn their faces to the sun, blazing once again in the western sky. But its renewed light and warmth is lost on them as Castiel voices what they are all thinking.</p><p>“And Dean?”</p><p>The reminder of exactly how and why they are still standing nearly sends Sam to his knees as Rowena moves to take his arm. The tiny redhead looks more elf than witch guiding him to one of the cheap, metal chairs, rubbing circles on his back as the big man drops his head into his hands. “I’m so sorry, Samuel.” Oddly enough, he believes her, but still shrugs off the unwelcome touch when Crowley grips his shoulder.</p><p>Crowley only smirks, casually wiping his hand on his overcoat.  “Winchesters,” he huffs, shaking his head. “Even God’s own sister underestimated you denim-clad nightmares.”</p><p>Sam looks down at the table to find four shot glasses have appeared, and Crowley proceeds to fill them from a bottle of whiskey pilfered from the bar. He picks one up and waits while Cas and Rowena do the same. Reluctantly, Sam takes the last one and stands again.</p><p>Castiel steps up. “To Dean.” Cas turns to Sam, “The world will never comprehend what it has lost today, but we do.  We will never forget the sacrifice Dean made for all of us. He was a brother, he was my friend.” His raspy voice drops to little more than a throaty whisper as he raises his glass skyward. “He was the best man I’ve ever known.”</p><p>“To Dean.” Rowena and Sam both raise their glasses.</p><p>“To Squirrel,” Crowley adds, and the four of them toss back their shots in true Dean fashion.</p><p>---</p><p>
  <em>The warmth of the sun on his face as Amara takes Chuck’s outstretched hand is the best thing Dean has felt since climbing out of a shallow grave and into the light in a flattened Illinois field. He can’t make out all they’re saying, but words like ‘love’ and ‘family’, sentiments he’d offered to Amara moments before, permeate the throbbing pulse of the time bomb ticking away inside him. And then Chuck is telling him they’re leaving, and his hand, God’s hand, is on his chest, absorbing all the lost souls. Chuck doesn’t speak, but Dean knows, unequivocally, that they are all at peace now, many of them for the first time in an eternity. The knowledge helps soothe the aching void they leave behind, but goddamn if they don’t hurt just as much coming out as they did going in. </em>
</p><p>
  <em>“Better?” Chuck asks, and yeah, no, better isn’t really on the table just yet, but it doesn’t matter.    </em>
</p><p>
  <em>“What about us? What about Earth?”</em>
</p><p>
  <em>“Earth will be fine. It has you. And Sam.”</em>
</p><p>
  <em>And then he walks away.</em>
</p><p>
  <em>Fucking Chuck, enigmatic to the very end. Dean wants to shake him, maybe take a swing at him, demand a real answer. It’s the very least they deserve. But he can’t - can’t throw a punch, can’t move, can’t even speak. All he can do is watch as the two most powerful beings in the universe join and merge into one, darkness and light, as it always should have been. Amara smiles, and tells him that he has given her what she needed the most. </em>
</p><p>
  <em>“I want to do the same for you,” she says. There is no time for explanations, but as their essence swirls away toward the heavens, she shows him.</em>
</p><p>---</p><p>Sam picks up the bottle and pours out another. All things being equal, getting as drunk as quickly and completely as possible seems a fitting way to wind up the worst day of his life. He barely registers the sound of his glass shattering on the concrete as the air parts with a resounding <em>crack</em> and deposits his brother in front of them, decidedly alive and definitely not exploded. </p><p>Dean walks up and grabs the bottle from Sam’s shaking hand, slamming back a healthy pull from it before setting it down on the table. Scrubbing the back of his hand across his mouth, he pats the angel’s back. “Nice, Cas. I mean, it was no Gary Busey, but I appreciate the sentiment.” He offers a shaky grin, taking them all in, and promptly passes out.</p><p> </p><p>-2-</p><p>“Dean?!”</p><p>He comes around almost before he hits the ground.</p><p>Three of the four faces looking down at him register some form of shock, disbelief, or relief. Crowley, as usual, just looks smug, as if he expected nothing less. Sam pulls him to his feet and into a bone-crushing hug in one motion, holding on well into chick-flick territory before Dean peels him off with a gruff <em>okay, Sasquatch</em>, which they both know means <em>I love you too, little brother. </em>He accepts hugs from Cas and Rowena amid a chorus of <em>how,</em> and <em>what</em>, and <em>why. </em></p><p>“Look, I’ll answer all your questions, but first I need a shower, a nap and large quantities of alcohol. Not necessarily in that order.”</p><p>Sam nods, “Okay, we’ll get a room–”</p><p>“Got all those things for free at home.” Dean holds out his hand, “Keys.”</p><p>“Dude, I just picked you up off the ground. You’re <em>not</em> driving.”</p><p>“I’m fine, Sam. Two trips on the God Express in one day scrambled my eggs for a minute, that’s all.”</p><p>“Dean...”</p><p>“<em>Keys,</em> Sammy.”</p><p>Maybe it’s stress, or exhaustion, or a trick of the light, but for a split-second Sam could swear Dean’s eyes actually glow as he repeats his demand. Either way, the guy just saved all their asses and probably the universe. Driving his own car is a pretty small ask. Sam sighs heavily just on principle, but drops the keys into his brother’s open palm and the four of them trail behind him to the Impala.</p><p>Rowena steps up beside Dean as they arrive at the car. “Well dearie, it has been a day, hasn’t it?” Even on tiptoe, she has to pull a surprised Dean down to place an uncharacteristically warm kiss on his cheek. “I’ll just be on my way, then,” she chirps, turning to Crowley and offering her elbow. “Fergus, perhaps you’d be so kind as to give your dear mother a lift?”</p><p>Crowley rolls his eyes, but takes her arm, silently wondering if he could drop her in the nearest volcano before she notices where they’re going. His little matricidal fantasy comes to an abrupt halt when Dean pipes up.</p><p>“Get in the car.” His sweeping gaze takes in the four of them before resting on Crowley. “<em>All</em> of you.”</p><p>“Chuckles give you some sort of God-complex, Squirrel? Because last I checked, you are not the boss of me.”</p><p>Dean just shrugs, tapping the roof of the Impala. “Suit yourself, Crowley, but trust me, I think you’re going to want to hear this.”</p><p> </p><p>-3-</p><p>It’s a six hour drive back to the bunker. Crowley offers to beam them home, while Rowena suggests a ‘wee spell’, but Dean has had just about enough supernatural whammies laid on him in the last few days to last a lifetime. He makes it as far as Kansas City before conceding that carrying around a couple hundred thousand souls in his chest before having them sucked back out by God himself might have a few side effects. He tags out, napping in shotgun while Castiel, Crowley and Rowena try not to make it awkward in the back seat.</p><p>There is ample warding in the Impala to keep Crowley from blinking out – but frankly, he’s intrigued and currently disenchanted with Hell enough that he doesn’t even try. Of course that doesn’t stop him from pouting the entire four hundred miles. Castiel spends most of his time staring at Dean, still not 100% convinced they aren’t all dead and this isn’t some exceedingly strange version of Heaven.</p><p>Rowena considers magicking herself to an island somewhere, with twin cabana boys and a large, fruity drink in her hand, but something in Dean’s eyes had her grudgingly regaling Sam with firsthand tales of 19th century serial killers instead.</p><p>For Sam’s part, honestly, he’s a little scared. No lie, he is grateful beyond words that Dean is alive and whole and snoring lightly in the seat beside him. But in his experience, a Winchester coming back from the dead, even the presumed-dead rarely comes without a price. He needs to know that there were no deals, no spells, no secrets only keeping Dean alive until some douchebag cosmic entity decides to pull the plug and toss him into the Empty. The knot in his stomach has him halfway convinced each time he glances over at his sleeping brother, it will be the last, and it’s only Dean’s promise that this time, it really is going to be okay, that keeps him from pulling the car over and beating the story out of him right here and now. Well that, and his sort of pervy desire to hear more about Rowena and H. H. Holmes.</p><p>They pull into the bunker before dawn, with two bags full of Denny’s take-out and a two hundred dollar bottle of Scotch that Dean insisted on buying at the 24-hour liquor store before crossing the Illinois/Kansas border. As it turns out, Dean is the only one eating - enjoying both his and Sam’s Moons Over My Hammy, an order of hash browns and a side of bacon, while studiously ignoring the four sets of eyes boring into his skull. Apparently having a soul-bomb ripped out of your body leaves a pretty big hole behind. Washing down the last bite of eggy, cheesy goodness with a mouthful of scalding hot coffee, he pushes the plate away and begins to talk.</p><p> </p><p>-4-</p><p>“So you’re trying to tell me that Chuck left you two big, lumbering piles of flannel in charge? Of <em>the Earth?!” </em> Crowley had listened to Dean’s retelling of what transpired in the flower garden with something between disdain and grudging respect, but Winchesters ruling the universe? Well there were <em>limits,</em> and this? Is it.</p><p>“Unclench, Crowley. Let me finish,” Dean says. They had moved the conversation into the library, and he makes his way to the liquor cart where he’d stashed the Belvanie and pours two fingers into a cut crystal glass etched with the Men of Letters symbol. He smirks to himself, wondering what old great-grandpa Winchester would’ve had to say about serving a beverage to the King of Hell in their secret bunker. He hands Crowley the glass, offering the same to Cas and Rowena, who decline. Sam’s bitchface over drinking alcohol before 7 a.m. is a clear enough answer that Dean doesn’t even ask. He clinks glasses with Crowley, takes a swallow of the smooth, mellow Scotch and continues.</p><p>“As usual, Chuck didn’t elaborate. Clearly, straight answers aren’t his strong suit, but I think he meant that Sam and me, we’re like, stand-ins. For humanity...” Dean falters a little and Sam leans in, as though Dean were finally saying something that makes sense to him. Dean moves behind his brother - a united front of the only two humans in the room. “I think he was saying that Earth would be okay because we humans could be trusted to do the right thing. You know. Eventually.”</p><p>Dean expects skepticism, even disdain; what he doesn’t expect is it coming from Sammy.</p><p>“So they left, just like that?” Sam pushes away from the table, nearly toppling the chair. “Thanks for saving our asses, see ya later? I can’t believe this, Dean. After everything we’ve done, they just... leave? No thank yous, no... Dean? What the hell...” But Dean is transfixed, staring at the wall as though he’d just discovered the Mona Lisa hanging there. He reaches out, fingers tracing the curved edges of a barely visible stain.</p><p>Castiel moves closer. “Is that–”</p><p>“Blood,” Dean says, quietly. “It’s a banishing sigil.”  Son of a bitch. It was true. She did it.</p><p>“Did what?” Sam asks, and Dean turns slowly, not realizing he’d said all that out loud. And if that was true... He grins at Castiel.</p><p>“Cas, can you go into town and pick me up some pie?”</p><p>Cas eyes Dean carefully, deciding to indulge his friend, who is obviously in the middle of some sort of mental breakdown. “I... I’d be happy to go to the store for you, Dean. If you’ll give me the keys–”</p><p>“No keys, Cas. Just..., you know, <em>go.</em> Fly.”</p><p>“Dean, I can’t–”</p><p>“Trust me,” Dean implores, fairly vibrating with anticipation. “Just do it. <em>Try</em>.”</p><p>Cas frowns, heart filling with sympathy for his friend. He wishes for nothing more than to have his wings again, but... Before he can complete the thought, he finds himself at the baked goods counter in Ladow’s Grocery Mart. Another blink and he’s back in the bunker, standing in front of a gobsmacked Sam and a Dean that looks as though he’s eaten a whole flock of canaries.</p><p>“Holy shit!” Sam and Dean breathe out the words as one as Castiel sways on his feet in front of them.</p><p>“Dean...” Angel or not, his legs are like rubber and he all but falls into Dean as they lead him to a chair. “I don’t understand...” </p><p>“Amara,” Dean says, eyes wide as he sits down beside the shaken angel. “It was Amara.”</p><p> </p><p>-5-</p><p>
  <em>“You gave me what I needed most. I want to do the same for you.” </em>
</p><p>
  <em>A kaleidoscope of images flash before his eyes, vignettes flickering like an old film against a disintegrating backdrop of black and white. Unfamiliar faces, but an impending sense of death and destruction that is all too recognizable. An armed, blond woman in the bunker, lying in wait for them. Blood sigil dripping on the wall, Castiel banished. A whole faction of crazy, murderous Brits intent on either indoctrinating them, or erasing them from the planet. </em>
</p><p>
  <em>Lucifer, burned out of Cas’s body and searching for someone, anyone to take him in and give form to his reborn malevolence again. He sees him burning through an entire family, priests, even a fading rock star, leaving a trail of bodies behind him all the way to the White House.</em>
</p><p>
  <em>Dean feels hollowed out, devastated – all they’ve done, all they’ve sacrificed, how could this be their future?</em>
</p><p>
  <em>And then the kaleidoscope turns. In a secret room across the ocean, a wall full of familiar images blur and fade, the paper crumbling to dust. Computer files are deleted, records gone like they never existed. In the bunker, a cell phone rings and the blond woman answers, her face a mask of confusion, but orders are orders. The unmistakable sound of the bunker door screeching interrupts her attempt to erase any evidence she was ever there as she makes her escape. And the kaleidoscope turns. </em>
</p><p>
  <em>A body lies on the floor in a suburban living room, eyes burned out, skin mottled and already starting to rot from the inside out. Above him a murky white light gathers, pulsing with power, undulating itself toward the open doorway that will lead to his next willing host. It has almost made its escape when a thick, black smoke pours into the room from every direction at once, enveloping the light in a cage of darkness, forcing it down, down, until it disappears through the floor. Deep in the farthest reaches of Hell, in a place that even the oldest of demons have forgotten, a door slams closed. Amara touches the brand once again emblazoned on her chest. She knows this prison well, and without a key, her key, it is inescapable. Lucifer rants and rages and curses the Heavens, but this time there is no annoying older brother to take his wrath out on, no deals to be made, nobody to even suspect that he still exists. Except Dean.</em>
</p><p>
  <em>As thankful as he is to know that Lucifer is gone, he can’t figure out why Amara would think any of this is what he needs the most. And then the kaleidoscope turns a final time. </em>
</p><p> </p><p>-6-</p><p>“She... she, uhh, wanted to make up for some of the damage she did I guess,” Dean says, no small sense of wonder coloring his voice. He has no intention of telling them what Amara showed him – he’s not even sure he believes it himself. And yet... he glances at the faded remnants of the sigil. “Said I gave her what she needed most and she wanted to return the favor.”</p><p>Crowley scoffs. “As lovely as this little fairy tale is, I’ll be taking my leave now. Places to be, souls to torture, and all that.” He smirks, with a mocking salute in Dean’s direction.</p><p>Dean looks at Crowley with something uncomfortably close to sympathy as the demon tries and fails to teleport. Crowley snaps his fingers, then resorts to a grand, sweeping gesture, his irritation growing by the second. Dean shrugs, his eyes traveling to the various swirls and symbols that appear around the room, glowing a little brighter with each attempt Crowley makes to zap out.</p><p>“Huh. I guess she upgraded the warding, too.” He hooks his foot around the leg of the chair closest to him and pulls it out. “You might want to take a seat, Crowley. This is probably gonna hurt.”</p><p>“I don’t get it,” Sam says, finally snapping out of his stunned silence. “Cas can teleport. Crowley... can’t? How the hell is that giving <em>you</em> what you need?” Sam would’ve expected him to ask for their parents back, or eternal protection for his baby brother. Hell, there were times he knows Dean would have been happy with a lifetime subscription to Busty Asian Beauties. But this? Makes no sense. No sense at all. “What the hell did you <em>ask</em> for?”</p><p>Dean shakes his head. “I didn’t ask for <em>anything,</em> Sam. It wasn’t a choice.” He turns back to an equally confounded Crowley.</p><p>“Hell’s locked down, Crowley. No more day passes, no crossroads deals. From now on, the door only works one way. The reapers do their jobs. People that deserve eternal damnation go down, good souls go up, and that’s that.” Crowley scoffs, and makes to stand up, but Dean pushes him back down with a firm hand. “C’mon, man, you’re connected. Go ahead, use your demon-calling mojo and see who comes running. I’ll tell you the answer though: nobody. They’re all back downstairs, courtesy of Amara.” He gives Crowley a moment to test his story and yeah, he can admit it, he holds his breath just a little.</p><p>“<em>Bollocks! </em>This is some kind of trick. There’s no way Amara has this kind of juice,” he argues.</p><p>“Dude. What part of <em>The Darkness</em> don’t you get? She was eating your demons for breakfast while she was still wearing knee socks and Mary Janes. She took on the worst Heaven and Hell could throw at her, and walked it off. And now <em>God</em> is on her side.” As he speaks, a thin, glowing rift starts to open, hovering in front of the archway to the telescope room. When it stops expanding, it’s about six feet high and looks a little like the Eye of Sauron. But then if he cocks his head just right, it kinda looks more like a large, flaming vagina. Go figure.</p><p>“Now you have a choice to make.” He tilts his chin toward the rift. “That right there is the only gate to Hell left on Earth. It’ll only work for you, and it’s gonna be open for about another,” he checks his watch, “eleven hours and fifty-nine minutes, give or take. You walk through it, and you’re the king, free to reign forever,” Dean glances sideways at Rowena, “or at least until someone even more ruthless and cutthroat than you comes along and takes you out. But the party’s over, Crowley, no more popping up for tea. You choose Hell, and that’s it.”</p><p>The generally unflappable demon will never let them see him sweat, but he swallows imperceptibly, running a finger under his impeccably pressed collar. “And option B?”</p><p>“Option B, you stay here and become mortal. No powers, no magic, no demon armies. You’re Fergus McLeod, middle-aged human, free to live out your natural life as you see fit.” Dean smirks, “Bright side, you keep your meat-suit, extra three inches and all.” After letting that sink in, he adds, “It’s a good deal, Crowley. More than you deserve, and you know it.”</p><p>He searches Dean’s face looking for the lie. For the first time in the centuries since he’d sold his soul, Crowley doesn’t know what to do. The rift seems to beckon and he rises, pacing ever nearer the fiery maw. “<em>Bloody hell</em>,” he whispers, scrubbing his hands over his face a few times.</p><p>“Go ahead, check it out, make sure I’m telling you the truth. But it’s a one-time-only offer and the clock’s ticking. Once it closes, it’s game over. It’s up to you what side you’re on when it does.” He quirks an eyebrow at the demon, “Gotta tell you though, I don’t think your minions are going to be too thrilled with you, considering this happened on your watch.”</p><p>Crowley’s eyes sweep the room, landing first on his mother, the traitorous witch, then the angel who has been nothing but a thorn in his side, and finally at the two brothers who have vexed him at every turn since showing up on his doorstep looking for a weapon to kill the Devil. He briefly ponders how much his lot has changed in a matter of moments, and how different things might have been had he used the Colt on them instead of his lackey demons that very first day. He huffs, spitting their name like the curse it is. “<em>Winchesters.”</em> And then he turns and steps through the rift.</p><p>“Dean, that was... that was...what <em>was</em> that?” Sam stammers. “Is he gone?”</p><p>Dean shrugs, “Dunno Sammy. I guess we’ll find out soon enough.” He gets up and pours himself another shot of whiskey, finding himself drawn to the rift as he sips at his drink. He passes his fingers through the undulating edges, mesmerized by the dancing flames. Fire had not really been a part of his Hell experience. Blades were Alistair’s weapon of choice, endless, agonizing cycles of blood and pain. His nightmares ended with Purgatory - pretty hard to dream when you never really closed your eyes - but every once in a while, when it’s too quiet, he can still hear the screams. If he leans in close enough, he wonders, would he hear them now? Dean pulls his hand back when Castiel appears at his side.</p><p>“What is happening, Dean? My wings... And what of Heaven? The angels, are they going to be punished for their refusal to help?” It appears the angel has recovered his voice as well as his legs. Dean holds up a hand.</p><p>“Easy, Cas. I don’t have all the answers. I don’t know what kind of power Amara has over Heaven, but I’m betting her brother helped out on that front.” Dean hesitates a beat, thinks about refilling his whiskey. “What I do know is that you have to make a choice, too.”</p><p>“A choice.” Cas tilts his head in that confused puppy way of his and Dean thinks maybe straight from the bottle is the way to go. He takes a breath and sets his glass down instead.</p><p>“Chuck is gone and I don’t think he’s coming back for a while. Somebody needs to take charge up there, fix the mess they've made. Maybe break Bobby out of jail, huh?” Cas’s eyes grow wider with each word that comes out of Dean’s mouth.</p><p>“No... you know what happened the last time I thought I could be God.” The look of sheer horror on Castiel’s face would be comical if Dean didn’t actually remember exactly what had happened.</p><p>“Nobody’s asking you to be God, Cas. <em>God</em> is God. I think they just want you to take care of things for a while. You know, until he comes back again.”</p><p>“Dean, they <em>hate</em> me. I’ve made so many mistakes. Metatron, Lucifer... it was me who...”</p><p>“Lucifer <em>used</em> you. You were trying to save them, save the whole damn universe. They’ll understand.” Even Dean isn’t quite sure he believes that, but he knows what Amara showed him. And Lucifer is gone.</p><p>“Castiel, Angel of the Lord.” Dean says, a little wistful. “No one is better for the job than you. Chuck and Amara knew it. I know it.” Dean reaches out and grasps him by the shoulder, unconsciously mirroring the grip that had raised him up from perdition nearly a decade ago. “Tell their story, Cas. Restore the faith.”</p><p>Castiel wants so badly to believe that this kind of redemption is possible for him. For better or worse, his time on Earth has fulfilled him in ways he never imagined it could, but Heaven... Heaven is his home. The thought of returning, of helping rebuild what he broke, of being welcome amongst his brothers and sisters again....</p><p>“I don’t know what to say. Dean, I–”</p><p>“Say you’ll pop down and say hello when you can, yeah?” Dean pulls his friend into a hug, much the same as the angel had done in the cemetery - was it really only yesterday? But this time he knows that their goodbye is not forever. It will never be goodbye forever for them. He pats Cas’s back and then lets go, stabbing him lightly in the chest with a pointed finger. “I hear you’ve gone MegaDouche again, I <em>will</em> find a way to come up there and kick your ass, you feel me?”</p><p>“I have always “felt you” Dean,” Cas responds, complete with air quotes. He gives his erstwhile charge a watery smile. “We share a profound bond, after all.”</p><p>Sam gets up and embraces the angel. He doesn’t have the history with Cas that Dean does, but Sam loves him in his own way. He’s still not sure what exactly is going on, but it feels like they are marking a moment here. “You be good.”</p><p>Cas looks from one brother to the other. Thank you doesn’t seem adequate for this gift he’s being given - and if it was, he’s not sure who he should be grateful to. What he does know is that yesterday he was facing the death of his friend or the end of the world, and now he is returning to Heaven with his wings and his hope for the future renewed. Days ago, Dean had forgiven him, called him <em>brother</em>, and he knows that for Dean Winchester there is no greater expression of love. He will repay that love by fulfilling his duty, by making sure that one day, hopefully many years down the road, Heaven will be worthy of Dean and Sam Winchester. So, no thank yous, no goodbyes, just a promise.</p><p>“I will try to make you proud.”</p><p>Cas steps back and spreads his newly restored wings, momentarily allowing them to settle around both men, before filling the room with their full glory, and then he’s gone.</p><p> </p><p>-7-</p><p>In the wake of the demon and the angel’s exits, they nearly forget about the witch. Respectful silence is not exactly Rowena’s M.O., and Dean half expects that when he turns around, she’ll be long gone. He’s not entirely certain that it’s a good thing to find her still sitting at the long table, with her hands folded in her lap like a schoolgirl. If he didn’t know her better, he’d think she was actually trying her best to be invisible. Given the givens, he’s honestly surprised she hasn’t, in fact, tried to disappear for real by now.</p><p>Rowena watches him carefully as he moves around to lean against the table beside her chair. He folds his arms and gazes narrowly down at her. She runs her tongue lightly over her lips, wishing mightily she hadn’t turned down that drink. But she was still Rowena McLeod.</p><p>“Am I next, then?” she asks, straightening in her chair, and Dean will give her this – after facing down an apocalyptic end to the world, possibly watching her son walk into Hell for the last time, and being one of the few people alive to witness an actual angel spread its wings, she’s still got her backbone firmly in place.</p><p><em>Next for what</em> would be the obvious comeback in their usual game of words, but right now, he’s tired of games. “I guess that’s up to you.” Dean walks through to the map room and retrieves Rowena’s satchel, setting it down in front of her. “See, it’s a brave new world, Rowena.” Opening the bag, he pulls out the leather-wrapped bundle containing the Book of the Damned and Nadya’s Codex and slides it across the table to Sam.</p><p>Rowena watches Sam pick up the bundle, silently cursing herself for bringing the books back into their presence. Desperate times and all, she needed both to create the spell and build their bloody crystal, and this is how they repay her? She pushes back from the table and stands, glaring daggers at Dean.</p><p>“Those are <em>mine!</em>”</p><p>Dean shakes his head, calmly closing the bag and setting it on the floor beside her. Rising to his full height in front of the diminutive red-head, he returns her icy stare.</p><p>“No, they aren’t.”</p><p>Though she’d seen those same eyes fill with pain and sorrow in this very room only yesterday as she’d planted a bomb in his chest, she wouldn’t stake her life that this was the same man before her now.  They both glance up at the warding, neither of them 100% certain if their effect stretches to cover her magic, too. But Dean doesn’t flinch, and after the last few hours, she isn’t willing to test it. She takes her seat again.</p><p>“The books stay here, but you are free to go,” Dean says, his tone markedly kinder. “I won’t forget what you did here, okay? We owe you.” He relaxes back against the table again, actually reaching down to tilt Rowena’s face up toward him, and that odd light is in his eyes again. “But like I said, it’s a new world.”</p><p>He’s not lying. The future Amara had shown him wasn’t monster-free. Supernatural fuglies would always exist, and so would the hunters who helped keep them at bay, working on the fringes to protect a mostly-unsuspecting public. He didn’t believe that Rowena would suddenly turn into Glinda the Good Witch, but she had earned a chance.</p><p>“You be good, or, well, see with no more demons, no ‘big-bad’ to take up all our time and resources? Me and Sammy are gonna have nothing but time to come after you.”</p><p>Rowena quirks a well-groomed eyebrow. “Your generosity is overwhelming.”</p><p>She dearly wants to cast the spell that is on the tip of her tongue, blind these two and take what’s hers. But she doesn’t know exactly what has happened out in the world yet, and she hasn’t survived as long as she has by being impetuous. The Winchesters are human, after all. She has a lifetime to get her books back. She smoothes out her dress, flounces her hair and raises her chin. “Well then. Which one of you boys are going to give a lady a ride?”</p><p> </p><p>-8-</p><p>Dean watches Sam &amp; Rowena climb the stairs and waits for the unmistakable clang of the bunker door closing behind them before he grabs the books and heads for the storage room. Unwrapping the bundle, he finds himself flooded with memories of touching the Book for the first time, of feeling its power reach out to the Mark on his soul, of hearing its seductive call. Of Charlie.</p><p>He swallows hard and closes his eyes, placing an unsteady hand on the ancient tome and feels... nothing. It is as cold and lifeless as the long-dead nun whose flesh and blood created it. It takes him a few minutes to find a curse box to hold it, and another few to lock it away behind a false wall in the dungeon. The codex goes into another safe hidden in his room and as he closes the door and spins the dial, he exhales for what feels like the first time in years.</p><p>By the time Sam gets back, Dean is well into his third glass of Belvanie, comfortably numb and stretched out on the leather couch in the library. He cracks open an eye when he hears the clink of glass on glass, a little surprised to see Sam pouring a drink of his own. The faint hope that it means a reprieve from the inevitable conversation to come dies a merciless death as Sam bats his legs out of the way and sinks down at the other end of the couch. The past few hours have been as through-the-looking-glass, world-turned-upside-down, batshit-crazy as any he’s ever had, and he figures, why the hell not? So he starts it.</p><p>“Peace.”</p><p>“What?”</p><p>“You’re gonna ask me what Amara gave me, what she thought I needed most.” Dean pulls himself up turns to face Sam. “I told you, it was the same thing I gave her, peace. Or at least a fair shot at it.”</p><p>“I don’t get it... how is any of this ‘peaceful’? Seems to me that Cas and Crowley are the ones who got rewarded.” Dean half-smiles at his little brother, willing to give him the benefit of the doubt that he didn’t mean to sound like a petulant child.</p><p>“I didn’t say peaceful, Sam, I said peace. For me that’s always been in having my family safe, and making the world safer so other families don’t have to go through what we did.” He huffs out a soft laugh. “Saving people, hunting things. Remember? The family business.”</p><p>“And you think this is it?”</p><p>“I think it’s as close as we’re going to get. Think about it. No demons, no winged dicks sticking their heavenly noses into things? More resources than we’ll probably ever need,” he says, sweeping an arm around the room. “And you and me, Sammy. On the same page for the first time in how long? No secrets, no lies between us. I’m not saying we have to do this forever, but we finally have a <em>choice</em>.” He raises his glass and waits for Sam to do the same. “That sounds pretty perfect to me, little brother.”</p><p>Sam just stares at him for a moment, not entirely sure who he’s looking at. He’s heard Dean use more words today than... maybe ever. Despite all he’s been through the past few days, he somehow looks ten years younger, and he’s disturbingly optimistic. He’s probably going to slip some holy water in his coffee later, but for now, Sam grins and clinks his glass to Dean’s.  They toss back the whiskey, and Dean smacks his lips, giving Sam a clap on the shoulder before he gets up and grabs the laptop from the table.</p><p>“Find us a case, Sammy,” he says, shoving it into his brother’s hands. “We got work to do.” Dean drops to the couch again and lies back with his hands behind his head and closes his eyes. “But first, I’m gonna have a nap.”</p><p> </p><p>-End-</p>
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